


Lambert does Letho

by disaster_imp



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brief mention of canonical character death (Battle of Kaer Morhen), Explicit Consent, Funeral, Geralt can't blush but what about other witchers?, Grief, Lambert knows what to do, Letho is hung, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and maybe learns a thing or two, okay maybe there's a LITTLE plot, oops this might be funeral sex, witchers being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: Lambert really doesn't like Letho.But.Thatvoiceis doing things to him.This kicks off with the Battle of Kaer Morhen (the Witcher 3 game), most of the early dialogue is straight from the game. Lambert's pov.Beta'd by the incomparableminutiae.
Relationships: Lambert/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet
Comments: 34
Kudos: 89
Collections: BIKM Secret Santa Event 2020





	Lambert does Letho

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrkinjd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/gifts).



> Dear wonderful Rawr, this isn't *exactly* a pairing you suggested, but brain had two ideas so I ran with both. I was also pretty confident this was in your wheelhouse, so I hope it works! I also just realised it's already December, so I probably should finish the second one...
> 
> I'm only sorry I can't draw, and your own Letho render is 1000% to blame for the whole *waves hands* size thing.

Lambert and Eskel are busy listing the reasons Letho should leave Kaer Morhen to the Viper’s face when Geralt walks through the gate. 

“Why did you even bring him?” Lambert demands.

“I need Letho," Geralt tells them, cutting their objections off. “I need _anyone_ who can face the riders of the hunt in battle. Your likes and dislikes count for a lot less than that.”

_Kingslayer. Eredin’s a king._

'I'll behave,' Letho promises the Temerians later, loud enough for Eskel and Lambert to hear. 

Lambert snorts, loud enough for Geralt to hear. 

Geralt ignores him.

Lambert hears his voice go up in pitch every time he bitches to Eskel, and just...

_Ugh. Why do I sound like a whiny brat, while that gods-cursed giant of a kingslayer has a voice that sounds like an impending landslide?_

An unnatural wind blows, swinging the massive training pendulum so that it creaks on its steel chains, the sound eerie and harsh as a dramatically eldritch fog rolls in. The horses stamp and snort, warm breath icing up in the sudden cold, and Lambert soothes them with a word and a soft touch. Nearby, the rhythmic scrape of Vesemir sharpening his sword rings in Lambert’s ears while Eskel, unable to wait quietly, trains alone in the courtyard.

 _They’re here._

Geralt, Lambert and Letho ride out to meet the Wild Hunt.

Letho takes a shot at Lambert for talking too much. Geralt says it's because he's _nervous._.

Which.

_Rude._

Before he can decide whether a swift kick to Geralt’s ankles will hamper his ability to survive the coming fight, Letho questions Merigold's ability to do more than conjure a cloud of butterflies.

Riling up the sorceress is an endeavour close to Lambert's heart, but before he can encourage that line of thinking, she makes it rain giant fireballs right next to his head.

"Next time you get the feeling I’m about to piss off Merigold, make sure and knock me upside the head!" he shouts at Geralt amidst the chaos surrounding them.

Geralt saves Letho.

Letho saves Lambert.

Lambert saves Geralt.

Vesemir dies.

Ciri _screams._

  
  


Lambert doesn't have any tears. Not even for Ciri's benefit. He watches her place flowers on Vesemir’s chest, kohl-stained tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eskel is barely holding it together.

Lambert isn’t sure _what_ he feels.

He stays to watch the flames burn down.

_Geralt, the fucker, invites Letho to stay._

He doesn't want to think about it, and it manifests as an angry restlessness. He needs a drink. A lot of drinks, in fact, and he aims for the kitchens. 

Somehow, somewhere along the way, he winds up walking in the same direction as Letho, who says absolutely nothing.

"Fuck you," Lambert snarls in response.

"You offering?" Letho rumbles, his words a slow drawl laced with a combination of menace and promise. 

Lambert freezes. 'No,' he tries to say. _Yes,_ his dick contradicts. _What the fuck._

"Snnnhhh." He manages, knowing full well there's no denying his interest when Letho can _smell_ his arousal.

"Words, little wolf," Letho growls, sticking a thumb the size of a small cock between Lambert's lips and dragging down.

"I should bite that thing off." 

He bites out the words, instead. 

Letho moves in close, walking Lambert back until he hits the wall, nostrils flaring as he inhales Lambert's scent. 

"Then why don't you?"

Lambert rallies his remaining brain cells and grips Letho's cowl in his fist, intending to shove him back. 

"Dunno what I might catch," he snarls, and much to his own surprise, instead of pushing Letho away he yanks him forward. Letho braces his meaty hands on the wall either side of Lambert's head and arches an eyebrow.

Lambert wants to punch the smug, smirking face, but his fist is still wrapped in cloth, the coarsely woven fabric rough against his skin, and he can't seem to make his fingers let go.

"Think you can take me, little wolf?" Letho whispers in his ear, and _that voice again._ Lambert wants to be buried by it, but _dear fucking gods,_ he's seen the size of Letho's cock when it's _soft_ in the baths - not that he was looking, thank you, not deliberately, it’s just really hard to _miss_ \- and there is _no way in hell_ that thing is going anywhere near his ass.

And yet...

"Is that a challenge?" Lambert asks, in spite of himself.

"Hmmm," Letho rumbles, tracing the line of Lambert's jaw with a finger the size of a... something large _definitely not a second dick, stop thinking you idiot..._ and it's surprisingly gentle. "Yes or no?"

Lambert didn't know it was possible for rage and lust to escalate simultaneously, until now. He takes a deep breath, trying to wrestle down the least-wanted of the two impulses.

"Yes," he grates out through clenched teeth, furious at having to admit it.

Letho's smirk widens to a predatory grin and he bends forwards, hooks Lambert behind the thighs and lifts, slinging him over one shoulder like a rag doll.

"I'm going to fucking stab you in the kidneys," Lambert hisses, his hands unable to find a grip on the smooth, unyielding surface of Letho's leather vest.

"Not gonna drop you, wolf." Letho chuckles, and suddenly Lambert is glad he's being carried because the sound turns his knees to water. "I know how many knives you carry. If you were gonna stab me, you would've done it already.

 _"Fuck you and your sexy fucking voice,"_ Lambert snarls.

"Yeah, reckon that's the idea," Letho agrees.

Pushing open the door to his room with a foot, Letho dumps Lambert none too gently onto the bed.

"Sexy fucking voice?" Letho says slyly, and if Lambert didn't suspect before that snakes can purr, he does now.

Lambert flops back on the bed, flinging an arm across his face with a groan. _What have I gotten myself into?_

For such a large man, Letho moves as silently as any witcher, and all Lambert hears for a minute is the soft rustle of leather and fabric, and the clinking of glass bottles, and then his boots are being tugged off and dropped on the floor with a thud. 

A finger hooks under his arm, pulling it away from his face. "Let me see you, puppy. Need to know you're okay. You wanna stop any time, just say."

Lambert nods wordlessly, too mesmerized by Letho's giant hands to respond. Even his _smallest_ finger is going to feel like it's splitting him half. He thinks back to when Jaskier had suggested fisting, and wonders if after this, he might be more interested.

His cock twitches.

_Oh, he is definitely more interested._

Getting naked is slow going, Letho's oversized fingers working at laces and buckles with painstaking care. Every time Lambert tries to help, Letho slaps his hand away. 

"Patience, little wolf," Letho tells him, his toothy grin anything but reassuring. "Takin' it slow."

Piece by piece, Lambert's armor and clothing are painstakingly removed and dumped in a pile on the floor. By the time he's done, Lambert's anticipation has reached fever pitch. Letho stands at the foot of the bed, eyes wandering over every inch of Lambert's skin, lingering on his cock. Despite not having even been touched yet, Lambert is hard, _so fucking hard,_ and Letho's tongue darts out between his lips.

"Like what you see?" Lambert growls.

Letho crawls onto the bed, hovering over the top of Lambert, still - agonisingly - not touching, still fully clothed. His bulk makes the mattress dip.

"Why am I the only one naked in this scenario?" Lambert asks, and it's a little hard to growl when a man who looks like he could eat you for breakfast is looking at you as if you are breakfast, so it sort of comes out in a rather breathless choke instead.

Letho shrugs. "Not hard yet."

Gaping, Lambert pushes him back, hard. "If you aren't into this, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Not that. Mutations. Do you blush?"

"Not some fucking debutante, Letho, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Because of the _mutations,_ Lambert," Letho says patiently, as if whatever the hell he is getting at is obvious.

"What? Yes?"

"Vipers don't. None of us."

"Neither does Geralt, and what the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Lambert snaps.

Letho rolls his eyes. "I know you know how circulation works. Skip school that day?"

He waits for Lambert to work through the logic.

"You can't get hard?"

"I can. It's just slow. Gotta be. Vipers have a potion we can take to help it along, but I only took it once. Blood filling up my dick so fast made me pass out."

Lambert pushes him back again, trying to get a gauge on the sudden bout of honesty. Letho looks disappointed, and not at all surprised, and although Lambert hadn't meant it as a rejection, his brain does a sudden 180-degree turn on Letho altogether. 

Regular humans judge witchers all the fucking time. They've _all_ done things someone finds horrific. He might not agree with Letho's reasoning, or appreciate his naivete - or desperation - but he _had_ reasons to do what he did. He wasn't just a mindless thug, any more than he, Eskel or Geralt are. Yet here he is, making the same assumptions, the same judgements of Letho, that others sometimes make of _him._

What he thought was going to be a fast and brutal hate-fuck was turning into something entirely different. This was supposed to have been a way to _avoid_ feelings...

"Ahhh fuck," Lambert says, surging forwards, kissing Letho for the first time.

 _Now,_ Letho looks surprised, and Lambert smirks. "What, you think just because I'm an asshole, I'm a... a... well. Yeah, fair call."

It's Letho's turn to duck his head, and Lambert wonders if anyone has ever been _gentle_ with the large man. Lambert sure as fuck knows what _that_ feels like, and Letho looks even more of a brute than he does. Nobody ever expects you to be soft. Nobody gives you that except other witchers, and even then... _even other witchers_ find Letho brutal and intimidating.

"Here's what we're going to do," Lambert says, making a typically impulsive and probably ill-advised decision. "You're going to talk and not fucking stop, because it turns me on. And you're going to behave, and let me undress you, and then I am going to fuck you, and then when you are good and hard I am going to ride you if it takes all fucking night."

He doubts Letho has ever been manhandled by anyone before. Even his fellow Vipers aren't built like Letho is, and Lambert wonders if he'd been subjected to extra mutations the way Geralt was.

He doesn't ask, it’s none of his business. Instead, he pushes Letho back until he's standing quietly at the foot of the bed. Unbuckling armor with fingers far more nimble than Letho's, Lambert tosses Letho's chest piece to the side. Every time he moves his hands, Lambert runs his touch across Letho's arms, his shoulders, his chest, tracing a scar or one of the bulging veins that criss-cross his body like a multicoloured patchwork. 

"Gone quiet, fangs. What's wrong?"

Letho stares at him helplessly. "Nobody's ever..."

"I know what it's like to be treated like some kind of brutish thug. We all do, expect it's worse for you. Even other witchers probably do it." He hesitates a moment. "Not probably. I did."

 _"What do I do?"_ Letho asks.

"Nothing," Lambert says gently. "Relax. Let me. _Trust me._ Just keep fucking talking."

"Not sure what to say," Letho mumbles. 

"Recite the fucking _Physiologus_ for all I care, I just want to hear your voice. Why's it so deep and gravelly, anyway?"

Tilting his head back, Letho shows him a scar that bites deep into the middle of his throat. "Lucky I can talk at all."

Lambert pauses, tracing the scar with a finger. "Do you mind, then?"

Letho glowers at him. "Don't think you could make me do anything I don't _want,_ puppy," he says with a sneer.

"Oho, that sounds like _another_ challenge, and we will be discussing it _later,"_ Lambert promises with a wicked grin. "That wasn't the fucking question. _Do you mind?"_

By way of response, Letho launches into the _Liber Tenebrarum_ instead, and Lambert doesn't care that it's even drier and dustier than the _Physiologus,_ because it's not the words he's listening to. 

Letho's belt is huge and Lambert has to put some muscle into yanking it open. Letho looks down at him, grinning. 

"Too much for you already, puppy?"

"Yeah, poor little wolf witcher can't even unbuckle the big scary viper's belt," Lambert says, bracing himself to tug the belt open with enough force to drive the air from Letho's lungs. 

Letho continues his recitation.

Lambert unlaces the codpiece and slips it off, pushing Letho's trousers down just far enough to free his cock. 

"Melitele, that thing reaches your fucking knees."

"Run away any time you want, puppy," Letho growls.

Lambert grins. "Yes, well done you figured out how to push my buttons, as if anyone _doesn't_ know. I'm guessing, Mister Biology Lesson," Lambert punctuates his point by tracing his fingers over the head of Letho's cock, "You can come while you're soft. How many times can you come?"

"Three," Letho says, his tone turning wary.

 _"Behave,_ or I'll wring those out of you first and you won't get to split me open."

"You want this as much as I do," Letho says with a snort, and Lambert chuckles.

"Perhaps, but there's always next time."

 _Next time._ It's a little loaded, and Lambert holds his breath, waiting for Letho to react. He still remembers his own response when Jaskier said something similar. _'Don't do me any fucking favours, bard,'_ he'd growled, fully expecting _that_ to be a one-off. Letho's eyes widen, but he takes it in stride and gives a slight nod before continuing his speech. 

The Viper is so tall that Lambert doesn't have to duck his head far to lave at a nipple with his tongue. He keeps one hand on Letho's cock, running fingers gently along its length, teasing lightly. It's a little fuller than when they started, and Lambert gives Letho's hardening nipple a tug with his teeth before letting go. He's rewarded with a hitching breath, and he shimmies Letho's trousers down over his hips. He takes a minute to grope at the globes of his muscular ass, using his grip to pull Letho firmly against him before releasing him again and pushing his trousers down and off. 

Face to face with Letho's cock, Lambert realises there's no way more than a few inches is going to fit in his mouth, but that doesn't mean he can't get creative. Kneeling, he swirls his tongue around the soft, velvety head, possibly the only softness Letho's body possesses. 

When he hears Letho's heartbeat kick up a notch, Lambert orders him onto the bed. Letho takes a position on all fours. Lambert suspects he knows why, but decides not to push just yet.

"Oil?" Lambert asks, and Letho points to a dresser next to the bed.

Slicking up his fingers, Lambert strokes over Letho's cock again first, before trailing his hands back to fondle his balls, finally rubbing small circles around Letho's tightly clenched hole. 

Letho tenses up, and Lambert pauses.

"Letho?"

"Get on with it," Letho growls.

"No. Look at me."

"What?" Letho snaps, looking over his shoulder at Lambert.

"You're tense. Do you not want this? I don't _have_ to fuck you. There are other things we can do."

"I..." Letho's voice trails off, and he refuses to make eye contact. "It's not that. It's just. I've never... _Fuck."_

 _"Never?"_ Lambert says in surprise.

"Not like this. Not _gently._ Look at me. People see a brute. What the fuck do you think those who want to bed me want from me?"

"Do you want me to fuck you? I can make it good, but you do get a damn choice here, you know that right? It's your body, for fucks sake."

Slowly, Letho nods. 

"Words, Viper." Lambert suppresses his amusement at the irony. _I sound like Jaskier._

"Yes. Fuck me."

"I would be _delighted,"_ Lambert says with a grin. "Roll onto your back, I want to see you. Bend your knees up. You can stop talking, focus on your breathing. Try to relax. I'll take it slow. If there's anything you don't like, if you want to stop, _say so."_

Kneeling between Letho's thighs, Lambert picks up the narrative, talking Letho through everything he does. He continues exploring Letho's body, running a light touch, his lips, his tongue, across his cock, tracing the scars on his abdomen and his thighs, trailing wet, sucking kisses down his inner thighs, sliding a well-oiled finger across Letho's perineum, tracing over Letho's hole, rubbing without pressing in, until the soft touches have him quivering.

Lambert isn't the least bit ashamed to be using tricks he's learned from Jaskier. How the fuck the amorous bard picked up so much _more_ in his thirty-odd years than Lambert has in decades never ceases to amaze him. The first time Jaskier had fucked _him,_ Lambert had thought his gentleness was mocking. Witchers don't _get_ soft touches. Once he realised Jaskier was serious, he had quickly succumbed to the bard's charms. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a little in love, but there was no holding onto that man. He loved freely, but certainly not exclusively. 

He wonders what Jaskier would make of Letho. 

When Letho's heartbeat ramps up another notch, Lambert presses his smallest finger to his hole, pushing gently. Not hard enough to press in, just enough to get Letho used to the feeling. When he thinks Letho is ready, he slicks up his fingers again and holds Letho's cock up against his belly, licking a stripe up the length of it with his tongue. At the same time, he presses his smallest finger past his rim, just the smallest breach, and holds it there. Letho's cock visibly twitches, filling out a little more.

"Look at me," Lambert commands. Letho's eyes are wild, and a little scared, but he focuses on Lambert's gaze.

Lambert holds his gaze, smiling at him, giving his finger a little twist, pushing it in a little further. "It's not easy to trust someone with this. I had a hard time with it too. Trust me, Letho. Bear down, if you want. It'll give you some control."

Letho nods, and Lambert presses in further as Letho's muscles relax to accommodate him. He moves his finger slowly in and out, soon replacing it with a larger, longer finger. Giving up his other ministrations, he sits back on his heels, wanting to watch Letho's face when he hits that little bundle of nerves.

"Don't hold back," Lambert says. "Make all the noise you want. Nobody's gonna care here, even if they hear us. I promise you that."

Letho sighs softly with every slow push of Lambert's finger.

"Feel good?" Lambert asks.

"Unf," comes the eloquent response. _"Ye..._ Oh. _Oh..."_ Letho lets out a soft moan when Lambert finds his prostate, curling his finger and brushing over it ever so lightly. Once, and then again.

 _"Oh gods. Lambert."_ Letho’s hands scrabble for purchase in the sheets under him, trying to find something to hold onto, something to ground himself. Lambert adds a second finger to the first, and Letho's hips start working, pushing up to meet Lambert's fingers, trying to take him deeper.

"Touch yourself," Lambert tells him, adding a third finger when Letho is stretched out enough. "Not just your cock, everywhere. Show me how you like to be touched."

Letho's meaty hands move to roam across his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, caressing gently. One hand goes to his cock, mostly filled out now, and he strokes it slowly. He pulls his legs up further, giving Lambert easier access. 

He is far more flexible than a man built like a tree has any right to be, and Lambert files that particular piece of information away for the future.

"Are all vipers this bendy?" Lambert asks in surprise.

"Yes. More, Lambert. _Please."_

"Patience. Want it to be good, you can be rough as you want next time. I promise, I'll give you what you want. Just be patient."

Letho nods, and his eyes have lost their fear in favour of desperation. _Weak and wanting,_ Lambert thinks, and it's fascinating. _No wonder Jaskier gets off on this._ He suspects he's not going to last long once he's inside Letho.

Lambert continues working with his three fingers, adding more oil until they are gliding easily in and out, every thrust punching a short breath from Letho's lungs.

When he draws his fingers out, Letho whines. Quickly slicking up his cock, he presses it to Letho's entrance. "Ready?"

At Letho's nod, he pushes in slowly, waiting for Letho to adjust.

"Breathe, Letho," he reminds him, when Letho stops breathing and clenches his ass around Lambert's cock again. "Bear down and breathe."

Letho does as he's told, and Lambert rocks very slightly in and out, pushing in a little further each time until he's fully sheathed.

 _"Fuck, Letho. You feel so good."_ He rocks inside Letho, still making small movements until Letho's muscles relax enough to let him move more freely. Pulling half way out, he presses in again, keeping the pace slow until Letho starts to move his hips, encouraging him to go faster. Lambert pushes Letho's legs back further, changing the angle, watching Letho tremble with every glide of his cock across his prostate.

Letho's mouth is open wide as he gasps and moans and whimpers with every thrust of Lambert's hips, his hands fisted in the furs beneath him. 

"Not gonna last long like this. Want to see you come. Stroke yourself for me," Lambert says.

Letho moves his hand back to his cock, running a light touch along the length before taking it in hand. He's almost fully hard now, and Lambert is somewhat relieved to see that filling out doesn't make Letho's cock grow any larger. 

"Harder," Letho demands. "Fuck. Lambert I'm close. _Harder."_

"Move your hips," Lambert tells him, increasing his pace. "Find the angle you want."

Letho does, and canting his hips up further, he emits a punched out _"Lam,"_ before dissolving into panting, incoherent moans. Lambert feels the hand between them speed up, and he increases his pace to match. 

"Fuck, Letho. I'm close."

Lambert watches Letho's face, and there's something rare and raw at seeing him dissolve under Lambert's ministrations that has Lambert's own breath hitching. For the first time in a decade, he understands what Jaskier sees in taking _him_ apart. He understands why Jaskier calls him _beautiful._

For the first time, he believes it. 

_"Fuck me,"_ Letho growls, and Lambert realises his attention has wandered quite inappropriately, and he's no longer moving. He stops holding back in the way only a witcher can, thrusting hard and fast inside Letho until the man comes with a strangled shout. Muscles clenching around Lambert's cock shred Lambert's remaining control, and as he rides Letho through his orgasm, his vision whites out as he's overtaken by his own climax.

When his mind clears again, he stills inside Letho, surging forwards for a messy kiss. "Good?" he asks, and somehow he sounds a little drunk.

 _"Fuck, Lambert."_ is all Letho can manage.

Lambert pulls out of him carefully, come leaking briefly from Letho's hole. He grabs a cloth to clean them both up, then flops onto the bed face down.

"Why don't you open me up while we recharge," Lambert suggests.

"Give me a - minute..." Letho says breathlessly, and Lambert hums while Letho catches his breath.

"All muscle, no lungs?" Lambert teases.

"Fuck off, wolf. You can't just give a man the orgasm of a century and expect an instant recovery."

Lambert hides his grin, but Letho punches him in the arm anyway.

 _"Ouch._ Some gratitude."

"I can hear you thinking," Letho rumbles. He holds his smallest finger in front of Lambert's face. "You want to start?"

"Nah. You try first. Feeling lazy."

Letho snorts, but retrieves the oil. This, he knows how to do.

Allowing for his much larger fingers, Letho starts with the smallest. Pressing his finger at Lambert's entrance, he rubs at it, pressing gently and applying more oil until, ever so slowly, Lambert's hole opens up around his finger. He waits until the thickest part of his finger is well inside past the second ring of muscle before he starts fucking Lambert with it. 

At first, Lambert lies with his head resting on his arms, lazy and content, but when Letho switches fingers, it gets harder and harder to lie still. His cock stirs beneath him, and he reaches out to grab Letho's cock in turn.

"Get that thing up here," he demands.

Letho pulls his finger out of Lambert's ass and smacks him on the hip, nudging him onto his side, arranging them on the bed so Lambert can take his cock in his mouth while he continues to open Lambert up.

Of course, that puts Lambert's cock within easy reach of Letho's mouth too, and Letho tongues at the head for a moment, licking a stripe all the way down to Lambert's balls before focusing again on the work he is doing with his fingers. Lambert's hips buck and he moans around Letho's cock, now flushed red and magnificently hard. It has ridges, and another moan escapes at the thought of what it's going to feel like inside him. He takes what he can, wrapping his hand around the rest.

He feels like he's trying to swallow an orange whole, and has to suppress a laugh.

Letho graduates from one finger to two, and already the stretch is a lot. Wondering how much he's going to regret this tomorrow, Lambert focuses on bobbing his head up and down on Letho's cock. It's so fat he can't take it deep enough to trigger his gag reflex, so instead of trying to swallow him, he tongues around the head, kissing and sucking and working at the sensitive places that make Letho twitch and squirm. A bead of precome forms, and Lambert hollows out his cheeks, sucking gently.

"Ease up," Letho tells him. "Don't stop, just... bit too good. Don't make me come."

A third finger is added to the first two, and Lambert's mind scrambles at the fullness of it. It's already more stretch than anything he's taken before, and he knows Letho's going to add a _fourth._ He feels his cock twitch at the thought, apparently it doesn't care that he’s going to ruin his ass.

Letho chuckles. "Don't worry, puppy. You're gonna enjoy this. Taking my fingers well, see?"

Lambert realises that the stretch that felt forced a few minutes ago has already eased, and Letho is working his fingers in and out easily.

Finally, _finally,_ Letho decides to brush over Lambert's prostate, and within minutes he's chasing the sensation, bucking his hips against Letho's hands, trying to get him to fuck them into him harder, deeper.

Letho adds a fourth, and Lambert stills.

_"Oh fuck Letho fuck FUCK it's too much."_

Letho stops, but doesn't take his fingers out.

 _"Don't you fucking stop,"_ Lambert growls, and he can feel wetness pooling around the head of his cock. He tries to push down on Letho's fingers, but Letho just keeps his hand in place, giving Lambert no satisfaction.

"Patience," Letho rumbles.

Lambert remembers he has a cock to suck, so he goes back to work on that, but his movements are rough and sloppy, he has no finesse, and with his brain empty of thought, no ideas. Cock goes in mouth, is all he can remember, so he takes the giant cock in his mouth again, moaning and swearing incoherently around it with every press of Letho's fingers.

Then the fingers are gone, and Lambert _whines._

"Shhh," Letho says, turning himself back around on the bed. Lambert whines again, because now the cock in his mouth is gone too. It's soon replaced with a tongue, Letho kissing him with a firm pressure, and Lambert kisses furiously back. 

"More. Letho, fuck, more. Why the fuck am I empty?"

Letho rolls onto his back, pulling Lambert on top of him. 

"That's not a cock, it's a fucking log," Lambert says, as Letho's now very hard cock between them presses against his own, much smaller length. Letho pushes him back so he's sitting up, straddling Letho's hips, cocks pressing together, and slathers them both in oil. 

Rising to his knees, Lambert takes Letho's cock, pushing it back until it pokes at his hole. He has to lean forward to get enough room.

"Take it slow," Letho tells him.

Lambert nods, and pushes back.

Letho has prepared him well, and it's not as bad as he expects. The stretch is powerful, but not truly painful. Once a decent length is inside him, Lambert rocks back and forwards slightly, testing. It's slow going, but eventually they get there, and when Letho is fully seated inside Lambert, Lambert rides him. Slowly at first, picking up the pace as the glide gets easier. As he's sure he's not going to _break_ anything.

Leaning back to try for a different angle, Lambert plants his hands firmly on Letho's thighs for support. It's impossible for him to rise as far in this position, but the pressure of Letho's cock gliding across his nerves is much stronger, and his legs lose any strength they had left.

 _"F - Fuck, Letho,"_ is the last coherent thing that comes out of Lambert's mouth, and Letho takes over. Gripping Lambert's hips, he holds him up, driving into him from below, over and over and over. 

Lambert barely has the presence of mind to grab his cock to stop it from slapping against Letho's stomach with every thrust, and that small touch topples him over the edge, his second orgasm cresting over him in wave after wave of ecstasy. Letho fucks him through it, grinning wildly, coming just as Lambert is about to scream from the overstimulation.

Letho takes his time pulling out. Lambert, for his part, collapses bonelessly onto Letho's chest. 

"I think I've forgotten my own name," Lambert grumbles.

"You ever stop whining, puppy?" Letho asks, brushing his fingers through Lambert's hair before reaching for a cloth to clean them both up.

"Maybe when I'm dead," Lambert replies, yawning and nuzzling into Letho's neck.

Game render by the very wonderful [Embeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004)

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit content isn't something I've done much of, so if you think I've missed any important tags please let me know in the comments x
> 
> Otherwise, yell away!


End file.
